How It Feels To Be Alive
by Hello Baby Hello
Summary: Shooting paranoid glances around the room, Snape sat in the seat with uncharacteristic weakness. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he sighed outwardly; something he hadn't done in a very long while. Practically breathing the words, he whispered...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, of course. All belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. I make no money, nor steal rights. At least, I hope now.

**Acknowledgments:** I would have to acknowledge every writer who contributes to SS/HG fiction, as I am inspired by all stories I read. Forgive me for any coincidences in these stories, they were not intentional, I assure you. Also, story title and many chapter titles inspired by the Azure Ray song, Sea of Doubts.

**Summary:** Certain duties must be met before anything can be accomplished. Regrets often spawn from these spur of the moment decisions, though, in the attempts to fulfill honor and duty. Snape, after facing years of hell, now finds he hadn't known pain until the present day.

**Warnings:** Character Death, possible implied rape, possible torture.

**Rating:** R

* * *

_"Professor." _

Professor Severus Snape was jolted out of his silent reverie. He was sitting at his oak desk, and realized he had been tracing the grain in the wood for what seemed like hours. Shooting a glance at the clock, he realized he had indeed lost track of time. Three o'clock in the morning was no time for someone to be up; especially one with six classes tomorrow.

He groaned aloud. He would be teaching seventh year N.E.W.T. Potions. This class was where the most worthy students learned their craft. The students were quiet, as they learned on a more independent level. Normally, this was his more favored class. And "favored" was a word Professor Snape rarely incorporated in his vocabulary.

Adjusting his wrinkled cuffs, he tried to clear his mind. He failed this task, and his mind remained muddy. It was September the 1st and the classes would begin tomorrow. For once in his life, Severus Snape was not prepared. Groaning once again, he abandoned his straight posture and slumped in his chair. Giving up, he let his thoughts return to their painful roaming. His mind's roving led tothoughts of the seventh year class. What were the names on the roster? Ah,yes. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, Neville Longbottom (groan) and Harry Potter.

Sighing, he mulled over the name that was not on that mental list.

_"Professor."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first breakfast of the term was quiet. His own blasted House was chattering as usual, but the other three Houses were nearly silent. Snape didn't think he saw a single Gryffindor open his or her mouth. After Dumbledore's announcement the night before, not even the ignorant first-years dared say a word. The High Table was also silent. He also knew that no one but Dumbledore had even spoken to him since the summer. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he silently left the table and made his way to the dungeons. Merlin, how had life come to this?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He stopped pacing as the bell rang for the first class. None other than the seventh years marched through the doors. Neville practically raced in, eager to prove himself. Snape wondered how Longbottom would manage without...

Inwardly heaving a sigh, Snape stood at the front of the room and waited, scowling, for the late bell to ring. Draco Malfoy conveniently walked in as the bell rang, his eyebrows raised, as if daring his teacher to comment. Snape saved a sneer, in attempts to not look at Harry Potter. Both Potter and the Weasley boy, he knew, refused to fight with him, let alone look at him. They both seemed to have agreed he did not exist; frankly, he didn't care. It certainly made things easier. If Harry didn't mind failing, then so be it.

Settling behind his desk, he named the first assignment. They were to make a simple review potion from their fifth year: the Draught of Peace. Merlin knew he needed one. Watching the students take out their cauldrons, he acted as if he were writing; making lesson plans to any of their untrained eyes. He was, in actual fact, simply gashing the paper; anything to stop him from openly showing weakness.

It had to be done.

It had to be.

He was beginning to grind the quill into the desk when, unfailingly, Neville's potion became corrupted. The cauldron seemed to be glowing, and the potion was fizzing in what was definitely a hazardous way. Gritting his teeth, Snape rose from his desk and fairly swooped upon Neville. Muttering 'Scourgify' as if it were venom, the cauldron became sparkling, cleaner than it was before.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape practically roared, "exactly HOW much essence of hellebore did you use? This is a STANDARD potion."

Neville's face drained of what little color was left, and stammered, "Thr-three...p-pinches, sir."

The Slytherins chuckled in the background, as several Ravenclaws moaned.

"Mr. Longbottom, I believe it says one pinch, and three pinches of ground wormwood. I thought you would have learned from your mistake in fifth year when the VERY same thing happened. This is your FIRST class of the term, and you make such a mistake. I'm surprised Miss Granger has not helped you!"

A sharp intake of breath came from around the room. Even Draco's smirk faltered; but only slightly. Snape froze. He could feel Harry's eyes bore into the back of his head, like burning holes in his skull. Snape would not bother to acknowledge the insolent boy's obvious glares. He owed him nothing.

As unembarrassed as he could, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Class dismissed."

While obviously shocked by Professor Snape's slip of the tongue, they were a bit miffed at the sudden dismissal. Surely a mistake on Snape's part wouldn't ruin the class, would it? Gathering their things, the few N.E.W.T. students quickly left the room, Neville particularly fast. Harry, on the other hand, lingered. Snape, who would have preferred Potter's usual arrogant stare, looked at him unfalteringly. Instead, Harry simply looked at him. His eyes were hardened; his jaw wasn't clenched. He looked more like a man then a seventeen year old boy, to be truthful. He looked as if Snape's mistake was the last straw. The stoic professor saying Hermione's name for the first time in months made Harry realize all the more clearly... Swallowing, Snape realized that Harry's expression was the look he often wore.

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, but seemed to have thought better of it. Giving one last look at the seat he had been sitting at, he backed out of the door, turned, and walked away. Snape shut the dungeon door more softly then he usually did and shot a look at the seat Harry had occupied not five minutes before. He nodded to himself.

It had been Hermione Granger's seat.

Shooting paranoid glances around the room, Snape sat in the seat with uncharacteristic weakness. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he sighed outwardly; something he hadn't done in a very long while.

Practically breathing the words, he whispered, "Why did I have to kill you, Miss Granger?"

_"Professor."_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, yes, I know. This chapter is VERY confusing! I'm terribly sorry. The statements in Italics and other things WILL be explained. I just wanted to set things up. Things will get stronger, longer, and hopefully more creative/original? Please comment and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading! 

**(Revised 12/17)** I would just like to say thank you SO much to my beta, snarkyroxy! Thank you so much for agreeing to do the horrible task of editing my work! So props and credit to snarkyroxy to much of the editing and revising done in this story! **(Revised once more on 12/29)** Thanks once again to snarkyroxy! And I hope you all had Happy Holidays, and will have a good New Year!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, of course. All belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. I make no money, nor steal rights. At least, I hope now.

**Acknowledgments:** I would have to acknowledge every writer who contributes to SS/HG fiction, as I am inspired by all stories I read. Forgive me for any coincidences in these stories, they were not intentional, I assure you. Also, story title and many chapter titles inspired by the Azure Ray song, Sea of Doubts.

**Summary:** Certain duties must be met before anything can be accomplished. Regrets often spawn from these spur of the moment decisions, though, in the attempts to fulfill honor and duty. Snape, after facing years of hell, now finds he hadn't known pain until the present day.

**Warnings:** Character Death, possible implied rape, possible torture.

**Rating:** R

_

* * *

_

_"Professor."_

Severus Snape woke from a fitful sleep, breathing heavily. His bare chest was drenched in cold sweat, his skin lacking more color than usual. He wrapped his lean arms around himself, rocking. He felt as though his entire body was frozen, constant chills running up and down his spine.

Clenching his jaw in an attempt to stop his feeble shaking, he got out of bed, dragging the deep green sheets with him. Making his way through his private quarters to the bathroom, he tried to adjust his vision to the darkness. It seemed to saturate the air he breathed, filling his lungs with a pungent gloom. As he reached the bathroom he muttered a spell under his breath, and candles in the bathroom came to life. The tiles, deep reds and oranges of Spanish origin, seemed to glow with warmth. A warmth that Severus Snape rarely felt.

Clutching the thin sheets around his lower half, Snape looked into the mirror. Heaving a deep breath, he examined himself. He felt rather foolish doing so but he felt as if...as if a part of him had been destroyed. Running his fingers over sallow cheeks, hooked nose, and bony shoulders, he felt relieved as well as disappointed. What had he expected? He had simply been dreaming.

Placing his hand on the side of the counter near the washbasin, he let the sheets drop. Casting aside his dislike of exposure, even in the company of no other, he grasped his forehead with his other hand. That dream...he'd felt as if he was being ripped apart. A constant battering. Only after he had awoken and caught his breath did he realize it was his conscience. He'd HAD to do it...

Sighing, he dipped his hands into the washbasin, cupped his palms, and splashed his face. The water, which should have been as cold as ice in the frigid dungeon, nearly matched his body temperature. Unsatisfied, Snape gave up attempting to rid himself of the horrible dream.

"Not surprising..." Snape muttered, quietly. "No sleep for weeks. The only time I get some relief...and...damn IT!" He didn't have the strength to emphasize the obscenity, even if it was only to himself. Winding the sheets around himself once more, Snape began pacing. He lost himself in his mental tirade again, reliving that moment...

_"Professor."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Turn to page 143 in Magical Drafts and Potions. You will be working independently today. Please do try not to destroy the classroom. Or yourselves, for that matter," Snape shot at his class. All of the fifth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors nodded or meekly replied, "Yes, sir," before beginning the days assignment.

Resuming his seat at the front of the class, Professor Snape absentmindedly trifled through his desk drawers. He was doing anything to keep him busy lately. If Dumbledore knew of his lack of concentration, he surely would be on a lengthy sabbatical. This was not an option though, as he was supposed to be spying for the Dark Lord. A "vacation" was clearly out of the question for him. Blast him straight to hell!

Sighing resolutely to himself, Snape rose from his desk and began walking through the classroom aisles. Glaring at the students, he sneered as he passed each cauldron. The assignment was a simple one; he had no extra stamina to focus on challenging less-then-par students. Glancing at the student's cauldrons, he noted that he hadn't seen a smooth purple liquid yet. All the better: marking F's near each name for the assignment was quite easy.

Focusing his mind at the task at hand, he began muttering comments to each student he passed. "I believe the potion calls for a deep purple, not a violent orange, O'Grady. 5 points from Hufflepuff." "Would you feed that potion to your own mother? 10 points from Gryffindor for your obvious inattention."

_"Professor."_

"What IS it?!" Snape roared, turning on the raven-haired Gryffindor in the seat behind where he stood. She blanched, and began to shake. She had a look that held a fright that was assuredly equal to the frustration his own expression showed. The students all stopped their work and turned to watch her.

"S-sir?" The girl, Miranda, yes, that was her name, asked.

"Could you not RAISE your hand and WAIT for my assistance? Calling my name constantly will get my attentions no faster then expressing some form of patience!"

The girl looked fit to burst into tears when the Hufflepuff sitting behind her, a plump red-headed boy, spoke boldly.

"Sir, Miranda didn't call you!"

The class turned to the boy, fear etched on every face as they watched for their Professor's reaction. Was he mad?

Snape, eyeing the boy, spoke calmly.

"Would you care to tell me who was incessantly calling my name?"

Sensing that some of the tension in the air had lessened, Miranda piped forth, "Professor, no was calling you, sir."

Turning his gaze to her, and then turning towards the rest of the class, he spoke louder. "If no one can admit to who refused to obey the rules of my classroom and wait until they were called on, 50 points will be taken from both your houses!"

The class moaned until Snape shot them a glare. They fell silent. The students looked at each other, daring someone to take the blame.

No one had said a word to Professor Snape. What was he talking about?

Professor Snape, his face tight with fury at what he believed was the students' insubordination, blinked. The bell had rung.

The class, neglecting to answer Snape, eagerly shot out of the classroom. Snape could barely open his mouth to reprimand them. A tall boy passing by muttered to his friend, "He can't take points if we're not here, can he?"

Snape, hearing this, caught the last student leaving the room. A small boy, who was visibly red in the cheeks from trying to run, was the unfortunate victim of Professor Snape's rampage. "30 points from your house, boy!" Barely showing any signs of recognition, the boy continued his solo stampede out of the room.

Growling, Professor Snape went and sat behind his desk. He had approximately eight minutes until the next class began. He must be getting soft. Not a single detention had been issued for such blatant disrespect. Did they honestly think they could lie to him and get away with it?

_"Professor."_

He froze. Looking up from his desk, he registered that he had closed the door. Recognizing that it was the voice from before, he heaved himself from his seat and walked slowly forward. His eyes darted around the classroom, eager to catch the assailant.

Closing his eyes a moment, he attempted to branch out his mind, in order to locate the source of the voice.

There was no one there.

Opening his eyes again, he clenched his jaw. Where was this unruly student intent on causing him trouble?

_"Professor."_

"Who's there?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know, I'm not really clearing anything up so far. I apologize! Please keep reading, as I have a pretty good plot in my head. Just a matter of you who are interested to read! But thanks to all for reading and reviewing. I hope you continue reading, and enjoy! Please let me know what you think. 

**P.S.** It seems through FanFiction's various attempts to fix bugs and things, reviews have been erased from my first chapter? If those of you who reviewed could kindly review again, so I know what you thought/think, it would be much appreciated. Thank you once again!

**(Revised 12/17)** I want to say thank you to my beta, snarkyroxy, for being so generous as to beta my story! Thank you SO much!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, of course. All belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. I make no money, nor steal rights. At least, I hope not.

**Acknowledgments: **I would have to acknowledge every writer who contributes to SS/HG fiction, as I am inspired by all stories I read. Forgive me for any coincidences in these stories, they were not intentional, I assure you. Also, story title and many chapter titles inspired by the Azure Ray song, Sea of Doubts.

**Warnings: **Character Death, possible implied rape, possible torture.

**Rating: **R

* * *

_"Professor."_

Snape was leaning on his desk in the Potions classroom. He had just finished a particularly gruesome first year Potions class with the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The irate professor had taken five points from each student as they entered his classroom - and again when they left. He was sure he would be hearing about it from both McGonagall and Flitwick. Let them try to chastise him! Glad for the lunch bell and a brief gap between classes, he had time to just... breathe.

Sneering at nothing in particular, he adjusted his cuffs. When had they gotten so... dingy? The usually pristine, white cuffs had somehow become light beige. Maybe cream in the proper light.

What in Merlin's name...?

He was standing there, musing about his cuff links! Was he that distracted? For a man so usually obsessive over the tiniest of details, he was certainly losing all traces of composure. Leaning heavily on the desk in his dungeon classroom, Severus Snape began to think. For the last two weeks, the root of his recent problems was the voice.

That voice.

In reality, he had only realized a soft voice was calling to him in the past two weeks. He had a suspicion, which, quite honestly, had been gnawing at him prior to the recent discovery of the voice, that he had been hearing it. He really had not paid it mind; if anything, he thought it was because of the guilt. That damned guilt! He had never had that before! Even in his youth, when he had done countless things with little or no regard for consequences.

_You were a Death Eater then._

"I'm a Death Eater now!" He murmured roughly to his inner voice.

Wait.

Was that his voice?

Shaking his head, Snape wound his lithe body around the desk to sit in the leather seat, looking rather forlorn without his company.

Of course it was his voice. Bemused, he wondered if he was finally going mad. It had been nearly twenty years now since he had joined the Dark Lord's "legions" and begun his spying for Dumbledore. It surely must be taking its toll by now.

Clenching his jaw resolutely, he began pacing. He glanced downwards. There was a line of scuffmarks where the dark grays of the stone floor had been brushed to a lighter shade. Pieces of the stone had been scraped off the once immaculate dungeon floor so that this particular area was nothing short of gravel.

Gravel.

The professor stopped. When had the area behind his desk become what was the area in his mind? Become like the region resting behind his façade? That's what it was, he thought.

He scanned his eyes over the classroom. Chairs tucked neatly behind neat tables on a neat floor. Then there was his desk, which was somewhat neat, despite his irritated gashing in the wood. Neat stacks of paper covered those.

Yes, he agreed, feeling something like accomplishment in finding a suitable comparison to his impending insanity. Looking himself over, he realized how much he was like his classroom. Besides the dingy cuffs, his robes were immaculate, with not a fray gracing the edges of his clothing. Each button, and there were many of them, of his raiment was so clean it could shine. His appearance would look much cleaner if it wasn't for the dull light of the dungeon.

On his face, no matter how hard he tried, was a constant grimace, even when he was somewhat happy. Hermione Granger's papers usually elicited this reaction when nothing else was on his mind. Closing his eyes shut, willing her name to disappear forever, he desperately tried to piece together the allegory he was creating for himself. Yes, right. The front section of the room, from his point of view, was clean, like his robes. His desk, where the students stopped and his realm began, was somewhat in piece. Almost like his body. His face contained a look of disdain directed at no one and everyone. Scars tattered his body. Besides those imperfections, he was still in one piece.

Then... then did one come to the part not seen by any but him. Behind the desk was his domain; the floor was roughened, the back of his desk was scratched, and one of the drawers was dangerously in need of a _Reparo_. Like his mind. Not even Dumbledore, to his knowledge, looked in there. It was like a thicket, brambles, something that, as much as Snape wished, was impossible to unwind. The Pensieve was simply used to keep him from leaking any important information. Memories, not thoughts, were put into that silver bowl. And that dense forest in his head, like behind his desk, no one entered. Ever.

_"Professor."_

Except that voice.

* * *

"Severus?" 

Professor Snape stopped his brisk pace through the second floor corridor. Slowly blinking his eyes, he maintained his expressionless face and turned.

"Yes, Headmaster?" He clenched his jaw, hoping against hope the man would not offer him those damned lemon drops.

"Lemon drop?"

Snape simply stared at the older man in disbelief. He must take that lemon drop laden tin with him everywhere. Snape made a mental note to do something about the man's obsession before he died. His own death, not Dumbledore's, he corrected himself. Made it all the clearer, really.

"No, thank you, Albus. Was there anything you needed?" Snape gritted his teeth, waiting for the lecture to begin.

"Severus, the other Professors and I find that you have-"

"Yes, Headmaster, I understand where you're going with this conversation, and let me make this brief. I am perfectly capable of handling my own problems, as I have done since I entered the door at the age of ten. You and the staff need not worry, for I won't be making any rash decisions anytime soon."

Snape then stared at Dumbledore. For the first time in his memory, Dumbledore was responding with a very vapid stare.

"I beg your pardon, Severus?" The elder man questioned. "I was simply saying we all feel you're doling out punishments more severely than is necessary, and, under... recent circumstances, if anything, the punishments should be lessened."

Snape stared hard at the man. He was chastising him for detentions? No sympathetic words? Did the man not know what had been happening the last two weeks? The Potions Master was, frankly, astounded. In all of his years of experience with those who were far from trustworthy, he had learned not to trust anyone. Except Albus Dumbledore. Much to his consternation, Snape had grown accustomed to the man's unruffled demeanor, as well as his ability to detect Snape's deepest held emotions. He honestly enjoyed the man's concern for his own welfare. Moreover, to Snape's utter disappointment with himself, he had grown accustomed to Dumbledore knowing just about everything.

Yet he didn't know that Snape was reeling from the last two weeks; that the punishments were a result of his approaching insanity?

The Headmaster could detect if he had stubbed his toe a week before and was suffering from it, but couldn't pick up what was troubling him now?

Snape then realized he had been staring blankly at the piercing eyes of the Headmaster.

"Severus, is there something you would like to tell me?" He asked calmly.

The Potions Professor was growing tired of this conversation.

"I'm not going to fall for your Potter tricks, Albus. Tell McGonagall and Flitwick I won't fail to take their first years as potions ingredients in my stores."

"Really now, Severus, is that completely necess-"

With a predictable swish of his robes, Professor Snape walked away from Professor Dumbledore and quickly descended the stairs, the Headmaster shaking his head at the retreating form.

_"Professor."_

* * *

He was sitting in a small alcove on the western end of the castle, where only a few club meetings were held sporadically throughout the year. If it weren't for the fact his eyes were opening and his chest was slowly rising with each breath, Professor Snape would swear Harry Potter, his head pressed against the narrow glass window, had died standing up. He noticed how gaunt the young wizard was to even fit in the space. Harry pulled slightly away from the niche. 

"Hello Professor."

Snape sighed, expecting the blasted Boy-Who-Lived would feel a need to speak with him.

"I have no time for your mindless chatter, Mr. Potter. I am in a rush. Five points from Gryffindor."

Disregarding the subtraction of points, Harry continued to talk calmly, as if addressing a fellow student. "You were walking."

"You were walking, sir," Snape corrected.

He then realized what the boy had said.

"You will not address me in such a manner! Twenty points from Gryffindor."

The boy clearly wasn't learning.

"Professor, I need you to tell me what happened."

Snape looked at him warningly while he felt the blood drain from his already pallid face. He wouldn't dare…?

"What are you talking about, boy?"

"What happened to Hermione?"

Snape knew he could only control so much of his body. Reflexes were particularly hard to control, and as hard as he tried, he could not prevent himself from flinching at her name.

"I believe Professor Dumbledore already addressed the issue with you," he said, his hands balled into tight fists. No signs of weakness must be seen, he thought, and yet tremors were now ripping through his body.

"Yes, sir... But..." Harry looked to be visibly struggling for words. "Why... How..."

"Harry."

The boy's head shot up at the first time Snape addressed him by his given name.

"I do not know."

Harry hung his head at the professor's words. This encounter had obviously resulted in nothing but more pain for the boy, who was also shaking.

Snape began to walk away and stopped, not turning around.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?" Harry said, biting the flesh inside his cheek.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor."

_"Professor."_

* * *

Snape tilted his head up to the cloudy sky. Peaks of sun filtered through the clouds, illuminating a patch on the ground a few meters away from him. A light rain was falling, skimming down his face. 

It was around midday, but because of the gloomy sky, one wouldn't be able to tell. Snape had a free class today, which he was taking full advantage of. He usually would be grading papers at this moment, but he hadn't assigned homework the previous day for any of his classes. The reprieve, he knew, wouldn't help matters; the classes were already testing his limits. Papers getting sloppier and sloppier, students beginning to chatter quietly with each other. He attributed the behavior to the result of his rampage and un-issued detentions. The student body was still talking about the events, after all.

Brushing thoughts of irritating young people away, he contemplated the thing that was currently vexing him the most. He knew that he had been hearing that voice for the last two weeks. However, for some reason, he felt as if he had been hearing it longer, and hadn't actually noticed it. Was it possible? Anything was possible, really. The voice, he admitted, seemed to be his own voice, echoing in his own mind. Another delusion, slowly slipping him into a permanent insanity. He could not afford to go insane.

But why? Why was he torturing himself this way, then? How many things had he done in all of his years spying, and yet he walked away with hardly a thought of remorse in his mind. It was different this time, he ascertained, because he knew her.

He was associating the voice with her, he knew. There was no other reason why the word 'Professor' would be uttered. And as much as he thought everything was in his head, he felt as if someone was whispering in his ear.

He couldn't imagine that, could he?

He vaguely heard the bell ring.

Time for class.

_"Professor."_

* * *

When he walked into class, he saw that all of the seats were empty. 

"What is the meaning of this?" He said sternly. But there was no one there.

Then realization hit.

He let out a low hiss. This was his free period. He had a class the previous period! Dumbledore was certainly going to harangue him for this. A fool's move, he thought to himself... why had he gone outside?

Then he registered a small 'thump'. After he had spoken aloud, he was certain something in his office had made a noise. The door was partly open. This time, Snape was certain someone was present.

He crossed the smooth stones, and passed over the roughened gravel in the area near his desk. He quickly came to his office door and pushed it open with such force it banged the hard stone on the wall.

He couldn't say he didn't expect what he found, but that didn't ebb his anger. Potter, his head ripped from the swirling Pensieve on a high stool, his eyes wild.

Snape simply stood there, stunned. Lightning could indeed strike twice.

Like in the boys 5th year, Snape grabbed him, anger coursing through his veins. Practically roaring, Snape shouted, "Do you have some strange fascination with my life, boy? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, COMING IN HERE?"

"I... you didn't answer me before, I was..."

"What? What, boy? Do you think you have free reign at this school? If you do, the dungeons are where your kingdom STOPS."

"I wanted to find out why Hermione was there!" Harry roared, his face red with fury.

Too much of the boy's anger and too much of the boy's frustration, Snape felt as well. He shook the boy.

"I DO NOT KNOW WHY OR HOW!" With that final roar, Snape prepared to slam his fist into the boy's bony face, right into that cursed scar.

However, he stopped, and let go.

"Out."

Harry didn't blink twice before he ran from his office, knocking over a classroom chair. Snape held his breath, waiting until he heard Potter slam the classroom door.

"Shit."

Snape pulled the wool sleeve of his coat up, his left arm shaking.

Today, the dark mark looked particularly red as it glowed and burned against his pale skin.

_"Professor."_

* * *

**Note:** Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. I want to thank you all again for the lovely reviews; how can I ever write angst when you all make me so giddy?! Anyway, I'm sorry this chapter was rather choppy, and didn't clear up to much. It's a longer one, and I had no real focus while writing it, but hopefully you'll let me know if it turned out alright! Thank you to my wonderful wonderful beta, snarkroxy, and all of you who have read! Also, please forgive me, because the formatting seems to be off in this chapter. Once more, thank you so much for reading! 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, of course. All belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. I make no money, nor steal rights. At least, I hope not.

**Acknowledgments:** I would have to acknowledge every writer who contributes to SS/HG fiction, as I am inspired by all stories I read. Forgive me for any coincidences in these stories, they were not intentional, I assure you. Also, story title inspired by the Azure Ray song, Sea of Doubts. And a steady thank you to my beta, snarkyroxy, who continues to beta for me even though she forgot me over the period of a year, hehe!

**Warnings:** Character Death, possible torture.

**Rating:** R

* * *

"_Professor."_

"Professor…" drawled one of the most grating voices Snape had ever heard from behind him. And Merlin, how he hated when she addressed him that way.

"Bella," he responded emotionlessly. He saw her smile wickedly as she came to her spot beside him. Her smile faltered as she began coughing, which led to dry heaving before Emeline Carrow to her right patted her on the back. Snape sneered.

Bellatrix Lestrange had once been the definition of beauty. Though pale, she had the exotic dark hair and eyes that harkened one to the stereotypical image of a Muggle witch of literature; Bellatrix was like the living incarnation of Freya. Her thick, dark eyelashes had once even beckoned Severus to take a minute or two more to look at her… but no more was Bellatrix the attractive young Slytherin. No, now Bellatrix's good looks were slowly fading away… along with her life.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dying.

It was essentially known by all of Voldemort's inner circle that Bellatrix's doom was imminent, but none made mention of it. Death Eaters were not the type to bring a witch chicken soup and insist she stay off her feet. Bellatrix was either unaware of the extent of her waning condition, or she was choosing to ignore it.

Snape almost sighed. She was martyring herself for a cause that would succeed just as much as the last Dark wizard's… he was no fool; he knew that if Voldemort should ever fall, the next evil mind with enough power and influence to take up the cause would be a long time in coming.

Bellatrix had been one of the most prominent figures in the revels, in the Death Eater's heyday of the 1970's and early 80's. Lucius was the only other Death Eater who might serve as the crazed witch's competition in revelry. Her promiscuity and use of substances had been legend among the Death Eater's, but the years of abuse on her body had taken its toll, as evident in her currently thin and weak body.

Snape could not wait until she died.

The meeting carried on as usual. Instructions were delegated, a homeless Muggle was used to demonstrate a new technique Avery had discovered in magical amputation, and reports were given. Soon enough, the meeting adjourned, and Voldemort gradually dismissed the witches and wizards. Eventually, it was only Avery and Snape, the Dark Lord's "finest" men. Voldemort stared both of them down, red eyes meeting the empty sockets of silver masks.

"Avery, you may go." The man bowed, and quickly Disapparated. The first to follow Voldemort, Avery was not subject to the mindless praising most Death Eaters gave the Dark Lord upon his or her exit.

"Severus."

"Yes, my Lord?" Snape answered calmly, bowing as he spoke.

"You've seemed distracted."

Distracted? Snape's body ran cold. A spy does not get distracted. Had he mistakenly said or done something? Snape waited, maintaining his even breathing.

"I understand that, of all of my followers, you are at the most risk," Voldemort said, not unkindly.

"My Lord, I assure you, I am fine. There are many more within the Ministry and other positions who are more at risk…"

"Severus! That was always the way with you. Always so much on your shoulders, never showing any signs of weakness… you are around… Dumbledore… of all wizards, daily. That is most certainly a trial in its own…" Voldemort looked at a point in the distance as he said these words. Snape thought the "man" had almost forgotten about him before Voldemort slowly got up and came behind him.

Bone-like fingers clawed their way onto his back, as Voldemort clenched Snape's shoulder.

"We cannot have distraction cost us an ounce of what I've attained. Make sure that whatever is distracting you is _taken care of_." Voldemort made sure to punctuate the last three words with significant pauses.

Snape nodded and responded with a forceful, "Yes, my lord."

Nodding in satisfaction, Voldemort flicked his wand, beginning the fire that would incinerate the small Muggle cottage they had taken over for the night. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord." Snape answered before Disapparating, just catching a glance of the joy that spread over Voldemort's face as the Muggle kitchen burst into flames.

"_Professor."_

* * *

Snape glided into the Hogwarts infirmary when he returned late that night. Ever since his spying had begun, Madame Pomfrey had insisted he come to her following every Death Eater gathering. Snape always followed through to please the meddling woman, who was under the impression that he received torture at every meeting. Of course he wasn't put under the Cruciatus… that would arouse unneeded attention from Dumbledore and countless others. Nevertheless, Snape needlessly went to Pomfrey; he fancied the slight strawberry flavor of the Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction that she insisted he take along with countless other potions. It was a commercial product, and that was the first strike against it. No credited Potions master had ever made it, and it had absolutely no affect on the Potions master taking it now. Nevertheless, Snape did like his strawberries. 

After his usual "Pomfrey Pampering," Snape left the infirmary and made his way to the dungeons. He thought the time was roughly around two in the morning.

"_Professor."_

Whipping around suddenly, wand out, Snape snarled. A student, obviously out past curfew, had the nerve to beckon him? Realizing how close he was to the Slytherin common room, he relaxed a little. Was it perhaps a younger Slytherin in distress?

"Come out," Snape commanded. He glanced at various objects in the corridor behind which a student could be hiding.

No one came forward.

"Is it really necessary to continue hiding? I'd have deducted points by now." Snape hated being remotely kind to anyone, let alone a student, and was considering deducting points regardless of what he had just said.

Snape began moving forward slowly, not making a sound on the stone floor.

"This is your last warning."

He made to walk in the direction the voice came from, when it hit him…

He hadn't heard the voice come from any particular direction. It was _that_ voice again.

Leaning against the cold stone wall behind him, Snape pressed his palm to his forehead, closing his eyes.

What was happening to him?

"_Professor."_

* * *

Snape paced the library after hours the next night. He had just perused countless books on anything to do with voices. Voices with no owner, voices from invisible ghosts, and voices from permanently Transfigured witches and wizards… but there was still very little, in any book, on voices in one's mind. Snape almost laughed. Weren't he and Potter just living a double life? He remembered, following the fiasco of the dueling club in the boy's second year, how Harry had discovered he was a Parselmouth. He remembered, quickly following the Golden Trio after the duel, overhearing Potter being told that hearing voices in the Wizarding world wasn't common. Who had told the boy that? Oh, of course… 

Clearing his throat and shaking his head slightly, Snape set his lithe hands down on one of the worn, wooden tables and thought hard. What could be the source of that voice? He had found nothing, even in the restricted section! For a library with thousands of texts, he thought, Hogwarts was still sorely lacking when it came to some topics. Not that any of the idiotic students read beyond what they were required for. No one had since she had died…

Snape pulled out a chair and sat down, heavily. He had considered Dumbledore. Dumbledore was the only person he felt he could tell… but after the chastisement for taking away House points weeks earlier, Snape had progressively resented the man. What would Albus say if he knew about his spy hearing voices? Take him off the job? Make him take a sabbatical? Think it was an excuse for taking off excessive House points? The man was thoroughly predictable.

Snape put his head in his hands. There was one other person he considered seeking…

"_Professor."_

* * *

Once again, in the earliest hours of the morning, Snape was awake. He was sitting at the polished wooden desk in his private rooms, his quill poised above a fresh piece of parchment, his other hand stroking newly formed stubble. He was thinking of what to say… what to say to Remus Lupin… 

Lupin had not said a single word to Snape since the incident. Oh, how Lupin had prized the student while he was a teacher, and even afterwards. She was like his counterpart… the Marauder's equivalent in the Golden Trio. The smart, sensible, and "kind" student. Those bloody Marauders were always trying to relive their halcyon days, even if vicariously. Now there were only two Marauders, he thought, and tried to ignore the dryness of his throat as he realized that there were now only two in the "Trio"…

"_Professor."_

Why did he have to tell anyone? he thought angrily. He had been able to take care of himself, both physically and mentally, for years. Why was he so keen on telling anyone about the voice in his head? What was he looking for from other people? Advice? Someone to "vent" at? He was not one to reveal anything to anyone, let alone any emotions or misgivings he had about himself. Throwing the quill aside, he leaned back in his chair. This was not as large a problem as he was making it out to be. The voice would subside, just as his guilt would. The guilt always did subside. Besides, he thought, how could he even consider contacting Lupin about the voice? He knew why the werewolf had taken Herm… her… death so hard. It had been the circumstances.

Closing his eyes, Snape remembered the night that Lupin had been captured, so many years ago; the night he received the scars that adorned his face to this very day. Many who knew of Lupin and his condition thought the blemishes were a result of the very plague he suffered… that the scars were a result of a particularly vicious transformation, or even the result of a fight with animals while transformed. Only a select few knew the real cause.

Lupin had been caught only scant hours after the Potters' demise. _The last great revel_, Snape thought ruefully. The young man had been caught and bound, various magicked blades slashed across his skin by several Death Eaters, each taunting Lupin to lash out at them, to bite them, to show them just how strong a werewolf was. Snape remembered how defeated Remus had looked, and then how determined he had become after being told that the Potters had been killed. No, he had shouted, the blood dripping down his face and neck. The Potters were not dead, no one knew where they were; not even he. Snape remembered when the Death Eaters had left him for dead, cackling at how Lupin remained so sure that the Potters' were alive. Rescuing the man, Snape had revealed his spying to Lupin - that he too was part of the Order. Lupin had trusted him instantly. Lupin's trust had not wavered since that day, which was why Snape had considered contacting the wizard about his current… problem.

But no, Lupin had hated Snape since the death of the girl. Lupin had witnessed the atrocities of a revel, had been prone to one… to imagine that he had survived one, but such a cherished witch as she had not… Every Order member knew how Lupin had reacted. Remus wished he had died instead of the girl, wished that such a waste of pure talent and humanity had not occurred. Snape was fairly certain the man still hated him now.

By this point in his thinking, Snape was leaning over the desk. His eyes stared at the blank parchment, his large nose inhaling the fresh scent. He could still remember the young witch's first year, when she had breathed in the scent of her fresh parchment in his class, and the bright, toothy smile that followed.

"_Severus."_

Snape froze.

The voice. The voice had just addressed him by his given name. Before, he had thought he had been going mad; the repetitiveness of the voice had been his biggest clue that he was indeed going insane. But no, no! He could not have imagined the voice changing in such a way!

As if recognizing that the tense Potions master had come to his realization, the voice called again, more insistently.

"_Severus!"_

Snape's eyes grew wide. It all made sense. The voice, the voice… he knew the voice. This was not a figment of his mind, this was not his guilt, this was…

"Hermione."

* * *

**Note:** Some sidenotes on this chapter:  
Emeline Carrow is a female Death Eater I kind of pulled out of canon. Snape mentions the Carrows at one point in the books, so I kind of fished out my own character. Emeline is a derivation of _aemulus_ in Latin, which essentially means "rival," a name I found fitting for a Death Eater. Also, Freya, or Freyja, who is used as a comparison to Bellatrix, is the Norse goddess of fertility, beauty, art, etc., and is sometimes depicted as a witch in mythology, hence my choosing her. Anyway, sorry for my pointless annotations! Moving on to my other notes... 

I am so sorry to anyone and everyone who has ever read this story, and actually wished it to continue. It has been a hectic past year, and so this coupled with other factors prevented me from writing. But based on people still reading this story, still reviewing, and still asking for an update… I would be cruel not to reply! I had no idea (and still hardly believe it) that this story merited as much attention as it has received! Thank you everyone for his or her wonderful reviews this past year or so, and please know I will be writing much, much more. And, if all of you truly like this story, thank Run Wild for her nudging me to update in my review to her great story (check it out! Plugplugplug); she was the biggest influence finally to get me to write. So, once again, thank you all for reading, and thank you to my beta, snarkyroxy, for putting up with me! I'm sorry if my writing style has changed much, but hopefully you all will still enjoy! Thanks once again!


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